//------------------------------// // Onboarding Passengers I // Story: Midnight Rail // by daOtterGuy //------------------------------// Soarin stopped just before the stairs down to the old Manehattan Rail, grabbing the railing to keep himself steady. His body was… not great. Rest had done little to ease the pain that consumed him; force of will was the only thing driving him, and he could feel that rapidly running out. He had no idea how he would get back to the office after this if he refused the offer, but, for now, he was going to continue to push through. He took each metallic step down slowly, using the rusted rail to prop himself up as he descended into the dimly lit depths. At the bottom, he was chilled by a thin mist. It was a sharp kind of cold that seeped into him and, mercifully, kept him alert. Turnstiles blocked the path to a rail tunnel lined by deteriorated benches and working lampposts. The latter was a welcome surprise, as he had been almost certain that it would be pitch black, due to the power being cut off to the station decades prior. Pushing through the turnstile, he stumbled up to the platform and waited. He wasn’t sure what he expected from a tunnel that had been shut down long before he’d even been born. Pain pierced through him, chipping away at what energy he had left to still stand. This whole endeavor felt like a waste of time to Soarin, especially since there was no chance that— Choo. Choo. Soarin turned toward the sound in surprise. A bright light lit up the interior of the passage. Impossibly, a train appeared. A loud screech echoed through the station as it roared to a stop, the single boarding door lining up perfectly with where Soarin stood. It was an odd locomotive. A cross between what Soarin knew to be a rail and subway train. It was low to the ground and sleek like the latter, but ornate and decorative with a clear night time motif as the prior. It was a strange amalgamation for him to reconcile. Which was quickly put to the side when the doors of the train slid open and a figure stepped off. They were tall and imposing, dressed in a high-class blue suit that made it impossible to identify their figure. Their hands were folded casually in front of them without a hint of fear. The ease of which this entity greeted him was off-putting, as Soarin was more used to the anxious, violent nature of the Rust residents. They also had a full moon for a head. Just an entire unbroken moon that glowed a yellowish-white. It was so utterly absurd that Soarin couldn’t help but gape at it. The entity tilted their head to one side in question. “Do you take issue with our appearance?” Their voice was gentle, but with every syllable clearly enunciated. Soarin shook his head. “No, no, it’s… fine.” He glanced at his watch. No text scrolled across it. “Are you a Deviant?” “We are to Deviants as an apple is to an orange. Categorically similar, but fundamentally different. You will not find us in that little watch of yours.” The figure stated. “Right,” Soarin replied, uncertainty colouring his voice. “So, what are you, then?” “One Big Leap, or Leap, for short, and that is all we shall tell you. Now, you are here for a purpose.” “You can clear my debt.” “We can, yes.” “This deal sounds too good to be true.” “Then in a show of good faith, allow us to clear half of it just for coming here. Hold up your watch.” Soarin did as asked. Leap took a watch out of their front breast pocket and tapped it against Soarin’s. Soarin watched his debt halve itself. “The rest will be removed should you agree to our terms.” Soarin stared at the number in disbelief. What would have taken him half a lifetime to clear was gone in mere seconds. “... What are your terms?” Soarin asked. “You will lead a team of twelve, including yourself, to delve into Traumas.” “What do you mean by traumas?” “No, Traumas,” Leap repeated. This time Soarin heard the capitalization. “They are unique spaces that only a few can enter. You are one of those few.” “The others are also capable then?” “Yes.” “Where are they?” “Not yet boarded, though, they will soon. Presuming they agree to board as we hope you will.” Soarin grunted noncommittally. “So what do you need from inside these so-called Traumas?” “Body parts,” Leap replied. “... Of what?” “An entity that I need revived, which is all we shall tell you.” “I need more than that.” “You do not.” “If you’re trying to—” “We cannot tell you more because we are incapable of doing so, not because we do not wish to,” Leap interrupted. “We apologize, however, there will be  information we cannot provide to you, even if you agree to our conditions. You will have to accept that we cannot tell you everything.” Soarin frowned. He didn’t like it. But their offer was still far too tempting. “Fine. What else can I expect inside of these Traumas?” “Deviants. Stronger than the ones you’ve faced before, but we are confident that you and the others will succeed with your Manifests.” He tensed. “How do you—” “It is one of the requirements needed to enter the Traumas. We are aware of They Rot From Inside, and you would do well to become more familiar with them.” “I hate using it,” Soarin muttered. “The Manifest, despite its strange characteristics and appearance, is another facet of yourself. Like a quirk of personality or unique trait,” Leap explained. “It is, admittedly, a complicated facet of yourself, but nothing you should fear to use.” “I’m not afraid of it, it’s just… I find it hard to see it as another part of myself. I’m not some… rotted pig,” Soarin hissed. “Obviously. It’s a metaphor, Soarin. One we suggest you become familiar with even if you do not accept our offer.” “So, I’ll have to use Rot.” “No, but your effectiveness will be severely hampered if you suppress your greatest strength.” Soarin scrunched up his face. “... I guess, I can use it if I need to.” “Then you agree to our terms?” “Not yet, I have more questions. What happens when we’re done? When we gather the… how many parts are there?” “Twelve,” Leap provided. “After which, you will be free to go. No strings attached. We shall also provide you with multiple avenues to achieve your ideal life, but it will be up to you to decide whether to use it.” “Does that include getting me back into the Cloudsdale Haven?” Soarin asked, disbelief in his tone. “Canterlot, Manehattan, Fillydelphia, anywhere you so desire.” “How?” “We have our ways.” Soarin paused a moment in thought, brow furrowed. “Anything else I need to know before I make a decision?” “You will be given an alias to use with your teammates.” “And that would be…?” “Golding.” “What’s a Golding?” “The name of someone you have no way of knowing, but rest assured, it suits you. Now, we request an answer.” “Can I think on it first? Come back later with my decision?” “No. It must be now, or this opportunity shall be granted to another.” He didn’t like that. The pressure. It twisted his stomach in knots. It felt like he was being trapped into a contract with the details hidden in the margins.  The offer was tempting. He could be free of his debt and able to live how he wanted after he was done with this job. However, despite how cordial and open One Big Leap appeared to be, he couldn’t help but feel that the most important aspect was being purposefully hidden. His gut told him to ignore the offer. Leave and never return. Go back to his dingy office. Alone. Saddled with a debt that even halved, he could never hope to pay back. Struggle every day in physical pain from beatings he took from bored debt collectors and Deviants alike as his anxiety ate him from the inside out. … This wasn’t a real choice. “I accept the terms,” Soarin said. “We are most pleased by your response.” They stepped to one side and performed a sweeping gesture toward the open entryway. “Please board. We will be leaving shortly, Golding.” Soarin did as instructed, his mind abuzz with anxious thoughts. He may well have just exchanged one Tartarus for another, but, at least for now, he had a chance to escape to a better life. Leap followed in after him. The doors closed shut behind them with a whoosh. A piercing whistle cried out. Then, the train left the station, off to places unknown.